


All the Rooms of the Castle Except This One

by redbrickrose



Category: Once Upon a Time (2011)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:39:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrickrose/pseuds/redbrickrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the most powerful of them all?”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Rooms of the Castle Except This One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_wanlorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wanlorn/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! This prompt was delightful; I hope I have done it justice.
> 
> Thanks to S, for encouragement and handholding.

Once upon a time, a young fairy named Maleficent lived in the dark woods. She was different from the other fairies. Her power was rawer, wilder and darker, difficult to harness. But it was stronger too, and the other fairies feared her and what she would become. She was lonely, but she was also proud and cold.

Maleficent had one friend as a girl, the daughter of a lesser noble in the kingdom skirting the forest's southern border. Grimhilde was a spoiled child, beautiful and vain; she was selfish and unforgiving when crossed, but she was charming and intense, all-consuming in her desires. Magic flowed through her veins as well, the relic of ancestral fairy blood. Though she was not as powerful as she believed, she was stronger than any in her family for generations, and she was fascinated (consumed) from youth by Maleficent, who could take the shapes of the animals around her and guided Grimhilde to do the same, who could fade in and out of existence in Grimhilde's bed chamber, who could bewitch the minds of the adults around them to grant Grimhilde's wishes - horses and precious stones and the fine, dark jewel-toned silks that offset Grimhilde’s pale skin and long, dark hair.

Maleficent taught Grimhilde the elements, and Grimhilde was always best with fire. It came naturally to her, and the first time she boiled the lake in the woods, it shocked them both. Maleficent was kneeling too near the water, one hand outstretched to assist Grimhilde if necessary, and she reeled back onto the rocks when the water bubbled, barely avoiding it scorching her skin. She clenched her hand tight, calling on the water to cool. Maleficent was always best with ice.  
When she looked up, Grimhilde was watching wide-eyed as the bubbling water subsided.

“Well. Look at you,” Maleficent said.

Grimhilde squared her shoulders, staring out at the lake. “Maybe I don’t need a fairy godmother.”

Grimhilde was jealous of the young women, and occasional young men, that the older, respected fairies chose to guide. It always seemed arbitrary to Maleficent too, who they chose and who they rejected. Of course, she had chosen too, and the older fairies did not approve of _her_ choice. They were almost as fearful of Grimhilde’s abilities as they were of Maleficent’s own. Grimhilde was almost completely human, and therefore a _witch_ , unpredictable and uncontrollable, unbound by the fairy rules of nature that bound even Maleficent and her pride.

“You have magic of your own,” Maleficent said, “and you have me. I'm your fairy godsister.” She waved her right hand and a ruby appeared, glistening above her palm, dark and vibrant like Grimhilde's eyes.

Grimhilde laughed again and caught Maleficent's hand, heat sparking where their skin touched. “Fairy godsister,” she said, and smiled.

****

Fairy tales end happily for the good and the just, and Maleficent and Grimhilde craved power. They may have always been doomed. But they were as driven by passion as the valiant ones; they were beautiful, strong, and brave, and years before Maleficent's permanent exile from Stefan’s kingdom, before Grimhilde’s bitterness, before Snow and Beauty, before vengeance and curses that would underwrite their lives, Maleficent tamed a dragon.

It was young, or it wouldn’t have ventured so far from the mountains into an area so densely populated by humans and other creatures. Dragons were known to be suspicious, solitary creatures, and the older ones were intensely territorial and deeply dangerous when threatened. She came upon it in a wide clearing, not far from the lake; it was panting fire into the grass, and the sight was so unexpected that Maleficent was nearly close enough to get caught in the sparks before she realized what she was seeing. The dragon's wing was bent behind it at an awkward angle from whatever battle had left it too weak to retreat to the mountains, and it hissed at her sharply, scurrying back away from her and flapping wildly for a moment, before crying out in pain. The sound was almost human.

Stunned, Maleficent dropped to her knees in the grass, sitting as still as she could, waiting. The dragon cocked its head to one side, watching her with one golden serpentine eye. She hummed low her throat, calling to it essence to essence. She had done this with so many creatures, when learning to take their form. She'd done it when learning to manipulate the Earth around her. Dragons were different, though, and she wouldn't have tried it if it hadn't been so young, or if she hadn't been. She didn't know anyone who had ever gotten so close and lived, except for the foolish princes charged with slaying them.

She was shocked into silence when the dragon called back, slithering toward her and letting her lay one hand on its neck, stroking softly across its shimmering green scales. She drew deep for healing energy, pulling it up through the Earth. Healing spells were not her strength, so she was shocked again when the dragon responded, keening softly as its wing leveled and straightened. It was helping her, or using her, or both, pulling on her magic the way she pulled on the elements. She had only just recognized that pull for what it was, when she felt the sudden push of the dragon giving _back_ , its magic slamming into her, flowing in a heated rush up her arm and into her core, settling under her breastbone. She could feel the dragon’s heartbeat thundering in the back of her mind, almost overwhelming the rush of her own pulse until she pulled back, shocked and winded, staring at the fading, red burn in the center of her palm. The young dragon nestled its head against her knee for a moment, before stretching its wing out, looking at her for one more long moment, and flying away. Maleficent knelt in the clearing catching her breath, her entire body shaking.

She went straight to Grimhilde afterward, drunk on the power of it. She threw open the door to the balcony and was pacing restlessly in front of the fire when Grimhilde stirred, sitting up in bed and blinking at her blurrily.  
"Maleficent? What?"

Maleficent shook her head and came to sit next to Grimhilde on the bed, pushing a loose lock of dark hair behind her ear.

Grimhilde raised one eyebrow, looking bemused. “My father is sleeping, and you're being very loud. What are you doing here?”

Maleficent kissed her instead of answering, and Grimhilde laughed a little and kissed her back, one hand cupping the side of Maleficent's face. She pulled away, tipping their foreheads together and curling her fingers in Maleficent's hair. “Did you come just for that?”

Maleficent shook her head. “No, you don't know where I've been tonight. Not just...” she kissed Grimhilde again, reaching out to the core of magic in Grimhilde with everything in her own, with everything _new_. When Maleficent pulled away this time, Grimhilde was breathing heavily. Stunned, she put her fingers to her lips, as if to touch the echo of dragon fire. “Oh,” she breathed, smiling behind her hand.

“Yes,” Maleficent said.

“Like I’ve never felt. I don’t…” she reached for Maleficent again, and they tumbled back onto Grimhilde’s bed, tangled in fur and fine, dark jewel-toned silk, Grimhilde trembling under Maleficent’s hand.

Maleficent crawled out of bed at dawn, power still sparking off her fingertips and the essence of dragon fire curled around her heart. Grimhilde was curled on the bed behind her, golden in the rising sun, as beautiful as the mirror always claimed.

“Maleficent,” the mirror called, as she passed through the room to the balcony, and she turned, startled, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tall and angular, draped haphazardly in Grimhilde's amethyst robe.

The image swirled into the mirror's face as she stepped toward it. “Maleficent,” the mirror said again, drawing her closer, “you have a question for me.”  
Like the magic, the mirror was a family relic, and like the magic, it had responded to no one but Grimhilde for generations. It had never addressed Maleficent before, for all the times she sat with Grimhilde, as Grimhilde brushed out her hair and lined her eyes dark black, and murmured “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall. Who's the fairest of them all,” just to hear the mirror's affirmation.

Maleficent drew herself to full height, swaying with the power still throbbing in her veins.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the most powerful of them all?”

The mirror laughed. “You are strongest; you have the potential and if you achieve it, none living will stand against you, but what if I said you will not achieve it?”

“I’ll achieve it,” Maleficent bit out, her voice cutting sharply in the silence of the room.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But beware of love.”

“Love?” Maleficent said.

“Yes. Love conquers, Maleficent, and love betrays. You know that. But you should also know that it doesn’t have to. If you would be the Mistress of Evil, if you would be unmatched and untouchable, then it will be a danger. Beware of beauty and beware of love underestimated and unanticipated, for they will undo you. But if you would be more than that, remember that love is not weakness.”

“More than unmatched and untouchable?” Maleficent.

“Just remember you have a choice,” the mirror said, shimmering out of sight and leaving Maleficent staring at her own reflection in the pale, morning light.

***

The Sleeping Curse was Maleficent's crowning glory, a spell perfectly spun to answer Stefan's slight.

It failed, because Maleficent underestimated love. She did not beware of Beauty.

It would take so much more than Phillip's sword to kill her, especially in dragon form, but the pain stayed with her for years, twinging in the cold and echoing failure. Despite the time that had passed, she was curled in front of her fire nursing old wounds when Grimhilde came to her.

She wasn't expecting Grimhilde, except that there was never a time when she wasn’t expecting Grimhilde, at least absently. Maybe it was just that she was never surprised to see Grimhilde, though it had been years since Grimhilde had appeared unnannounced. Ever since Maleficent's failure with Aurora, and Grimhilde's tragic engagement, they had stood on principle. Despite Aurora's survival and her reign with Phillip in the north, Maleficent's reputation meant she was feared throughout the surrounding country. It wouldn't have done for Grimhilde to have continued their close acquaintance.

(“You understand, Dear,” Grimhilde had said, dark hair falling perfectly coiffed over one shoulder, “it wouldn’t be proper.” She lifted her wine glass to her lips and smiled, all calculated false innocence and unflinchingly confidence, and why not? Maleficent was the one who taught her how to get what she wanted, after all.  
Maleficent had tensed, startling the crow perched on her shoulder so that it dug its claws in, piercing her skin. She reached up one hand to stroke its neck to quiet it. Maleficent understood, but she wanted to ask if Grimhilde still understood what it meant to cross the Mistress of Evil. What was Grimhilde's power to hers? Nothing but the vanity of overconfidence and charm, stirred by trace magic running undisciplined through her veins.)

Grimhilde did the same thing now, smiling tightly, settling across the table from Maleficent with that facade of calm that always seemed so fragile.

“I need the sleeping curse, old friend.”

Maleficent laughed. “And why will that work any better for you than it did for me?”

Grimhilde shrugged. “Why do you think it won't?” The facade wavered, intensity and anger sparking behind it. “You underestimate me. You've _always_ underestimated me. Your pride destroyed you. Don't assume I'll make your mistakes.”

“I don't,” Maleficent said. “I assume you'll make yours.”

Grimhilde inclined her head, her eyes narrowed.

“Meaning?”

“You don't think. You don't plan, nothing works the way you think it will. Not your magic. Not your love...”

It was too far. They didn't talk about him, or the whirlwind courtship, or the last day when Grimhilde kissed Maleficent and left her standing by the lake; it had been an unseasonably warm day in early spring, and Maleficent had turned away, her power welling up and out of her uncontrollably, freezing the lake and coating the tree branches with frost.

Grimhilde's voice went low and angry. “You planned. You planned for years, but your spies were worthless and all your power was worth nothing in the end, was it? After all of that? You lost. Don't deny me the chance.”

Maleficent folded her arms across her chest, sinking back further in the chair. “And what will you give me in return? Old. Friend.”

Grimhilde smirked. “Are we making deals now?”

“We are, if you’re insisting on this. Let it go, Grimhilde. Let her go. Come here to me, for awhile.” It was too honest a request, and Grimhilde stopped for a moment, studying Maleficent. Maleficent caught her breath and did not say, “They know what you are now.” She was the “Evil Queen” the witch spoken of in hushed tones as her power and influence had grown. If she was not as feared as Maleficent, she was feared more immediately. Maleficent was legend, a shadowy figure on the edge of nightmares, used to frighten children, especially in Grimhilde’s southern land. Grimhilde was a deposed queen with loyal followers, a visible and tangible threat.

Grimhilde shook her head and looked away, pushing herself out of her chair and coming toward Maleficent. Her voice was hard when she spoken again. “I _do_ insist. And here is my offer.”  
The orb in her hand seemed to materialize from nowhere, but Maleficent felt its presence like a jolt, like all heat left the room, absorbed into its depths. Maleficent was Mistress of Evil, Lady of the Forbidden Fortress, but she was a fairy all the same, bound to the basic laws of nature and reality, for all that she twisted them. The orb was sick; her vision swam and a low throb started behind her eyes when she looked directly at it.

“Is that…”

“The Dark Curse, Dearest? Yes.” Grimhilde was calm, self-satisfied. Maleficent tried to catch her breath against the chill centering itself in her chest.

“Where did you get that?”

“It doesn't matter.”

Maleficent looked at Grimhilde – really _looked_ at her, all sharp edges and angles and so, so distant, but not cold, not ever that really. Her temper always burned too hot for that, but there was new power pulsing behind it now. Or old power, old like the Dark Curse, giving her unnatural strength. “What happened to you?” Maleficent breathed.

“Jealous, Fairy Godsister? Could I match you now?” Maleficent, who could rain fire and ice on the world at her will, who had dragon essence buried in her soul, didn’t think so. But for the first time, she wasn’t sure.

“You would make that trade?”

“I have no need of it. I would think you do. You do want to keep it safe, I assume.”

“Give it to me,” Maleficent said.

“Oh, Maleficent. Not as evil as all that, Mistress?”

“Give it to me,” Maleficent's voice echoed off the vaulted, drafty ceilings. “You don’t understand what it can do. Whoever made it, wherever it came from, it will destroy us all, and the caster more than anyone. You, who feels so much, even if so much of it is rage. You don’t know what it takes away. Everything natural. Everything real. Give it to me.”

Grimhilde shrugged and dropped the orb into Maleficent’s hand like it was a bauble, her nonchalance chilling Maleficent more than anything. She shuddered when it touched her skin, so cold it burned, the sick power flowing under her skin and cramping her wrist and arm. She schooled her features not to betray her discomfort, but she wouldn’t feel safe until it was locked away, encased in glass and magic where she could guard it, but it could not touch her.

Grimhilde watched her expectantly. Maleficent felt the rare nostalgic ache to touch her arm or her hair, to conjure a ruby that would have made Grimhilde smile, but they were past all that, the Mistress of Evil and the Evil Queen.

The Sleeping Curse was what she had to had to offer now. She waved her hand and an apple materialized, rich and red in her palm.

“I used a spindle, but perhaps this is more to you taste?”

Grimhilde took it and nodded. "That should do."

***

But the Sleeping Curse failed Grimhilde too. She also underestimated love.

Maleficent was not surprised when Grimhilde returned for the Dark Curse. Staring at the emptiness in Grimhilde's face, she'd recognized the part of herself that had always been afraid they'd come to that.

“Love is weakness,” Grimhilde said before she left Maleficent bound in iron in the drafty hall, “I thought you knew that.”

Maleficents sent out her spies. They roamed widely and returned with news of Grimhilde's meetings about the curse. They brought news from the south of the new Queen Snow White and her Prince Charming, and Snow White's pregnancy. Maleficent shielded the Forbidden Fortress with thorns and dragon fire and she waited.  
And when the air changed, taking on a forbidding, anticipatory chill, her spies brought reports of Lord Henry's death and she went to Grimhilde, high in the tower overlooking Snow White’s castle.

Grimhilde did not seem surprised to see her. She paced in front of the windows thrown open to the balcony. To the north, Maleficent could see her own storm swirling in the sky above the forest.

“We meet again, Old Friend,” Grimhilde said. There was something sincere in the endearment, and it caught tight in Maleficent's chest. “Have you come to say good-bye, or have you come to beg?”

Maleficent sighed. "I don't beg, darling. And what good would it do? Your own father. _Really?_ Even for you...”

“Did you think it might be you?” Grimhilde smirked, cruelty lilting in her voice. “Is that why you've been hiding behind your magic all this time?”

“I wasn't hiding. I knew I was safe from you.”

Grimhilde glared.

“Snow White will suffer if you do this,” Maleficent said. “She will suffer as she never has. She will lose everything she has, but so will we all. Think what you have lost already.”

“Think what I lost because of her,” Grimhilde snapped. Silence stretched out, long and hard between them. “Can you stop me?” Grimhilde asked, more quietly.

“You know I can't. I've known since you read the scroll that I couldn't.”

“Then you have just come to say good-bye.”

Maleficent shrugged. “It’s only really good-bye for me. That’s the price you’ve paid.”

Grimhilde looked away. "So be it."

Maleficent watched the Forbidden Fortress storm rage out the window. All her innate power, and one living did stand against her, fueled by rage and borrowed strength and love turned dark and inward. She nodded. "Fine, so be it. If this is really the end of all of this, where else would I go?"

Grimhilde turned back toward Maleficent, looking at her with a hint of the warmth Maleficent thought was long dead. She held out her hand. "Do you hate me?"

"Yes," Maleficent said, taking Grimhilde's hand and gripping it tightly, weaving their fingers together.

“You really are my only friend.”

"For some reason I don't find that particularly surprising."

Grimhilde almost smiled. They stared at each other for a moment, until Grimhilde broke away, dropping Maleficent's hand and clearing her throat. “Stay here if you will. It’s time.” She vanished in a swirl of smoke, a trick Maleficent taught her once, long ago.

On the wall, the mirror laughed, a dark and hollow sound. Maleficent turned, startled, but when her gaze focused, the mirror just looked sad. It shook its head. “I warned you, didn't I, about beauty and love?”

**Author's Note:**

> Additional notes:
> 
> 1) I offered this fandom just on the *off chance* that someone, somewhere wanted this pairing. I was delighted by the assignment and got pretty ambitious. Then my life blew up in about five different directions at once and my ambition was a bit thwarted, but I hope this at least gives a satisfying overview of the epic story that I have for these two in my head.
> 
> 2) I had some trope issues - specifically how to avoid evil lesbian cliches when writing specifically about evil lesbians. Given...everything about this prompt and source, as well as my intense affection for stories about evil characters in love with each other, I know you'd have thought I'd have seen that coming and managed to preempt it. Not so, apparently. Upon my first full read through of my first draft, I definitely had the reaction of, "goodness, that is some unfortunate subtext; how did I miss that?" I believe I managed to rectify it, but if not, mea culpa. /o\ I really, really like stories about evil characters in love with each other a LOT. Sometimes I get carried away.
> 
> 3) The Evil Queen needed a name. I went with Grimhilde, since that was an alias in the Disney version and seemed as good as anything.
> 
> 4) The title is taken from Richard Siken's [Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177722)


End file.
